


Our Farewell

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22601659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: You always knew it would end like this.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You, Sam Winchester/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Our Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> Implied Dean x Reader, but could go either way.

You always knew it would end like this. You always knew it would be you first; you’d make that one fatal mistake - and then it would all be over.

What you _didn’t_ know was the pain. The white-hot, _excruciating_ agony of steel-sharp claws slicing through your own flesh and meat like it was warm butter. The blood spurts out thick and red and wet with every slowing beat of your heart, seeping out through your fingers where your hands are pressed against the gaping wound. You can taste it on your tongue; warm, bitter iron. And, it isn’t like you’ve never been injured or experienced serious pain before, you absolutely have - just not like this. Your vision clouds with it, every nerve seemingly touched as the fire spreads.

Easy mistake it was, the accident. Completely preventable. A simple miscalculation on your part - you never were too great with distances. The wolf had its claws in you before either Winchester even had the chance to process the error. The creature was brought down with four booming gunshots only seconds after, but the damage was done and true.

Sam had skidded to your side, the full moon a milky halo over that mop of wild, tousled hair. A wet thump of boots against mud, and then Dean’s kneeling to your left, long fingers smoothing your hair from your eyes. You shift your gaze to his and force a pained smile. “S’it bad?”

Dean parts his lips to speak, then closes them and works his jaw as he looks away. He can’t, and you suppose you really couldn’t either if you were in his shoes. Sam’s breathing frantic and heavy as he wrenches off his flannel. “She’ll be fine,” he murmurs to Dean, and a deep _riiip_ tells you he’s shredding the last Christmas gift you’ll ever give him into makeshift packing gauze. “Put pressure on it.”

“Sam…” Dean tries, and you’re very thankful for this full moon tonight because it allows you to study those features you’re going to miss so much; the rigid line of his jaw, the soft-full curve of his lips, the way his brows dip and furrow when he’s stressed. His hands are warm and heavy over yours where he’s pressing down. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it did and you’re grateful for that even though you know what it means. “Sammy,” he tries again, softer, but Sam isn’t listening as he tears the flannel into long strips.

It’s funny - you can’t really feel much of anything now, and even though it’s quite a struggle to breathe, you feel kind of… giddy? You’re smiling - or at least you feel like you are, and if this is what dying feels like, then it’s really not so scary after all. “Don’t bother, Sam,” you hear yourself say, and he looks at you like you aren’t speaking English. “I fucked up,” you continue, aware of the weakness in your voice. You really are very tired. You try a laugh, but it comes out a breathy choke. Blood. There’s a lot more blood. “I’m sorry-”

“Shh.” Dean. “Don’t talk, okay? We’re gonna getcha all fixed up.” That’s a lie, but you nod anyway. “Just relax. You’re gonna be okay.”

Your gaze swings to Sam then. He’s frozen, face twisted and all screwed up. You look at the plaid fabric clutched in his fist. “Thank you,” you wheeze. “Thank you for - for everything. For… for trying.”

Dean says your name, and god, it may be the last time you’ll hear it in this world. “Please don’t talk. Y’gotta relax-”

“No.” You cough wet. “No, I… I need to tell you. Both of you.” Your gaze flicks between shadowed emerald and autumn. “I wouldn’t have made it this far… y’know? Not without-” Another cough. God, you’re sleepy. “Not without you guys.”

Sam says your name this time, and you really wish he hadn’t. He says your name like it pains him. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him this broken. “Not now,” he says, shaky. “Not like this, I - _we_ need you.”

“You don’t,” you whisper. “You’ve got each other. That’s all…” Oh, you’re fading fast, but that’s okay because you’ve done your job. So you smile. “That’s all this world will ever need.”

*

Dean sets the glass down with a low clunk, watches the amber liquid dance under the library lights.

“You need to sleep,” Sam says somewhere from behind. Dean doesn’t answer. There’s a sigh, slow and airy and long. “She wouldn’t want you like this.”

Dean smiles crooked and dry, raises the glass for another sip - and pauses. “I’m good.” He wants to curse at Cas - hell, he has for the past three months, but the Angel has been long gone for years now. Heaven couldn’t save her then - and it can’t help him now. So he drinks.

There’s a pregnant pause; fat and still. “You’re not,” Sam finally croaks, jaw clenched. “But you will be.” He gives Dean a solid slap on the shoulder as he thumps by, knows full well he’s just as empty and hollow.

There is no fixing this, there’s no going back, but they’ll move forward.

Because that’s what Winchesters do.


End file.
